


Restless

by satterthwaite



Category: The Hour
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/M, Fucked-up relationship, Mind Pain, Mindfuck, OCD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satterthwaite/pseuds/satterthwaite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The red on her lips is Russian, but her perfume is undeniably French. A combination that he thinks will follow him everywhere he goes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Restless

The red on her lips is Russian, but her perfume is undeniably French. A combination that he thinks will follow him everywhere he goes. He wants to forget – he wants a mind like a blank page, something to be filled anew, something that can be erased. A past that is not unchangeable.

 In Spain his hands are shaking – it doesn’t go unnoticed. As he endlessly realigns his own state of mind, she closes her eyes and tries to forget. Life doesn’t go unnoticed.

 It’s the last tea cup, she drops it; the sound of the shattering is louder than the bombs falling on Barcelona. She collapses, open-wounded knee – he doesn’t collect the pieces.

 She can’t sleep, but the sirens don’t wake her up anymore. When the bed is cold, she screams in silence, ripping her throat open with restlessness. There is a prayer on her lips; she was never a believer. But this room is a sanctuary, a speechless devotion to burning souls away. They set up the stakes. There is something inside her she can’t name.

 She thinks she hates him, because she can’t pour out all the love. She is drowning.

 When they first met, they brought light into each other’s darkness; hers, stuck to seeing the world through a lens; his, the compulsive need to survive. The world is dark now, they do not wake up in each other’s arms.

 Now she screams for real – _let me go, let me go_. There are ghosts – she is not a believer.

 She steadies his hands, he takes the lens off. For a while, they fool who they can, them first. There are cracks, ridiculous fissures they will overcome, surely. The mending is painful, until there is something inside her she can’t name.

 She cannot steady his hands anymore, his blood turns into something she knows too well. He cannot take the lens off her eyes, her sight is blindfolded by something he knows nothing about. The words stumble out of their mouth.

  _You don’t need me anymore. I don’t need you anymore._  
 _You must go. I set you free._

 The red on her lips is still Russian, and her perfume is still undeniably French. A hole – she can now name the thing that grew inside her. A pit in which they had thrown their hope and dreams.

 You must go now, Randall.  
I set you free, Lix. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this is so fucked up ? Like, I wrote it in one go without beta-ing or anything, so I'm deeply sorry about this.


End file.
